


The Doctor and The Scientist

by Unlawful_Villainy



Category: Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: Agent/Doctor!Culber, Current-day AU, Denial, Dodgy science, M/M, People being shot, Scientist!Stamets, Shadowy Organisations, Slow Burn, Violent Scenes, author is not a mushroom expert, kidnappings, lorca's an asshole (as per usual), no adult content sorry guys I am Terrible At That
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-23
Updated: 2018-01-28
Packaged: 2019-01-22 01:41:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12470648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Unlawful_Villainy/pseuds/Unlawful_Villainy
Summary: Paul Stamets is a mushroom expert working to create a new, environmentally friendly fuel, when a shadowy organisation pursues him and kidnaps him for their own purposes. In captivity he is forced to work for them, partnered with a dangerous, brilliant doctor to supervise him.





	1. Don't Move

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first thing I've written in a while (that I'm intending on expanding) so I'm just testing the waters to see if anyone'd be interested in a continuation. I hope you enjoy it!

Sighing heavily, Paul Stamets pulled the keys out of his car’s ignition and let his head fall backwards onto the headrest, spending a quiet moment staring blankly out of the windscreen. This far from civilisation the stars were unnaturally bright in the sky above him, the full moon illuminating the surrounding landscape in a way he’d never known it could. In the distance he could see the outline of a mountain range, silhouetted against the midnight blue sky. The world around him was the quietest he’d ever heard it, and he spent a silent moment appreciating it, calming himself.

A bang from somewhere behind him startled him out of his reverie, and he twisted in his seat, trying to peer through the tinted windows. The boxes of files stacked up in the back of the car blocked his view, though, and he decided to just get out and fill up the tank like he’d intended originally.

Opening the door, he stepped out and made his way around the vehicle to the petrol valve, pulling the pump off the stand and opening the valve. Yelling followed the sudden bang from earlier, presumably from the door of the mini store behind him, and he did his best to shrink into the grey paint while he filled up. As soon as the pump shut off, he pulled it out of the car and shoved it back in the stand hastily, dropping it as he fumbled with the handle. Replacing it, he adjusted his glasses and inhaled deeply, letting out a shaky breath, swallowing, and striding purposefully across the black road towards the station so he could pay. As he passed the vocal argument, he tilted his head up a little and kept looking directly forwards. Once he was past them, he let out the breath he hadn’t realised he was holding, and pushed open the door to the station.

Blinking and shying away from the bright fluorescent lights, he pulled his wallet out of his pocket and counted out the change, approaching the counter. 

“Don’t like yelling?”

Stamets looked up with a jerk. The attendant was standing behind the counter smiling kindly at him. Looking over his shoulder, Stamets realised that the windows were uncluttered and the man would have been able to watch him filling up and walking over. Turning back to the attendant, Stamets let out a nervous laugh, looking down as his wallet and checking the money in his hand.

“Y-yeah,” he muttered, shoving his wallet back in his suit pocket. “Not really a fan of…” he trailed off as he handed out the money and met the man’s eyes. His smile really was disarming, Stamets thought. And he was very handsome. Ryan, he read on the name tag. But as Ryan reached out his hand to take the money, Stamets’ eyes fell to his wrist, and he froze.

_The mark._

Stamets’ suit sleeve had ridden up as he handed over the money, and Ryan could clearly see the angry red burn extending from the base of Stamets’ wrist up his arm, and, unseen, all the way to his mid forearm. Dropping the money as if it was red-hot, he shrank back, pulling the sleeve down around the burn, but it was too late, and Ryan pulled his jacket aside and drew a gun he’d had holstered at his side. Before Stamets could react, Ryan had lowered it to the counter where it was hidden from the drunk argument outside, but kept it pointed at Stamets. 

“Don’t move,” he murmured in a low voice, flicking his eyes between Stamets and the drunks outside. The smile was gone, the kind eyes that had drawn him in were no longer sparkling but hard and cold as ice. Stamets, for his part, was frozen, staring at the gun and weighing up his options. Then the bell rang behind him.

Ryan fixed him with a stare and moved the gun under the counter. “You try to run, I shoot them and you.”

“Get outta the fucking way!”

A heavy hand landed on Stamets’ shoulder, and it took all of his remaining self-control stop himself from yelling out or running. The hand shoved him away and he stumbled backwards, tripping over his own feet and colliding with a newspaper stand behind him. The drunk who’d pushed him away turned at the sound of the metallic rattling, approaching Stamets with a sort of manic intensity. Stamets shrank against the cold plastic shelves behind him, trying to make himself as small as possible and avoiding the drunk man’s gaze. It did not the deter the man, however, as he leaned down, peering out of unfocused eyes at the petrified scientist in front of him.

“You got a problem with that?”

“N-no…” he stuttered, inhaling and preparing himself for a blow that never came. Instead, the man pushed closer, shoving his face forwards until the two of them were nearly touching. Stamets could feel smell the alcohol on his breath. 

The bell rang again, and Stamets flicked his gaze away from the drunk in front of him to the doorway for a second, where a nicely dressed man in a pressed suit and dark circles under his eyes had come in, evidently to pay for his gas. They locked eyes, and the man in the doorway opened his mouth to speak and turned, reaching for the door handle to leave. 

Then everything happened at once.

The millisecond the man’s fingertips brushed the door handle, an explosion reverberated around the station, and he dropped like a stone. Across the room, where the man’s path had been blocked from Stamets’ view by the numerous plastic shelves, Stamets ducked instinctively, covering his ears and sinking to the floor away from the noise. The drunk man above him, who’d barely registered the noise at all, he was so intoxicated, looked down at him, furious, and began reaching for him. Then another explosion sounded, and the drunk man’s head was propelled forwards, a projectile emerging from his left temple as he, too, fell. This time, though, Stamets could see him clearly, and there was no missing the ragged hole in the back of the man’s head, or the slowly expanding pool of thick red blood. Frozen for a second, he stared, unable to tear his eyes away from the dead man lying nearly barely a foot from him, whose eyes, earlier so full of anger and contempt, had already begun glazing over as he stared into nothingness. 

Movement roused him though, and as the ringing in his ears began to subside he made out footsteps, then saw a pair of shoes stop at the end of his vision. Fearfully, he turned to Ryan, who was now standing above him, looking down with the same cold expression as before, not a muscle moved even though he’d just murdered two men, the gun still in his hand. Regaining control of his faculties, Stamets voiced the only thought in his head in a low, terrified whisper.

“Why?”

Ryan’s expression didn’t change, as if the man was set in stone, but he acted as if he didn’t hear the question.

“Get up.”

Still processing the scene that had just taken place, Stamets didn’t move. He was frozen, staring at Ryan’s face, but he wasn’t really looking - the only thing he could see was the empty eyes of the drunk man who still lay next to him, his blood leaking out onto the cold linoleum floor. Ryan sighed, as if frustrated that Stamets wasn’t responding, and leant down, grabbing his arm in a vice grip and dragging him into the corner away from the blood, not even giving him a second to stand up. He promptly let go, and Stamets fell, automatically grabbing the shelf in front of his face with his hand so as not to hurt himself, but as his gaze fell to the that hand he noticed it was spattered with a thick red liquid. Inhaling quickly, he withdrew his hand, wiping it on his suit, but as he looked down he actually saw his suit, and just like his hand the charcoal grey was splattered with red as well, extending up towards his collar out of his field of vision. Gingerly he touched his hand to his cheek. His fingertips came away stained with blood.

Mustering what little confidence he had left - practically none at all, he set his mouth and looked up at Ryan, who was surveying the scene as if it were a minor inconvenience like a spilled drink rather than the horror it was. More forcefully this time, he repeated his question.

“Why?”

Ryan turned with a single eyebrow raised, as if a little impressed that Stamets was able to voice a conscious thought. The same cold, uninterested look on his face, he replied in a dismissive tone.

“We need you alive. And preferably unhurt.”

Stamets let out a shaky breath, lowering his eyes to the blood on his suit as the qualified echoed in his head. _Preferably,_ Ryan had said, _preferably_ unhurt. The message was clear. 

Stamets couldn’t have sat for more than 10 minutes, but it felt like eternity as he replayed the scene over and over again in his mind, unable to stop himself from visualising the exact moment the bullet emerged from the drunk man’s temple, leaving a ragged bloody hole in its place. Eventually, Ryan returned to him, having made several calls on a cheap disposable phone, and grabbed him again, pulling him to his feet and leading him outside to where a silver car had pulled up. The spotless paint reflected the harsh fluorescent lights of the inside of the station, but it was a relief to be in the dark again as the bright white lights gave him a headache. His eyes used to the inside of the station, the car initially appeared to be abandoned, but as he blinked a few times and his eyes adjusted he saw that it was actually surrounded by a number of people in black clothing with guns identical to Ryan’s holstered at their hips. By this time Ryan had removed his red employee shirt and tag and replaced them with a fitted black jumper. 

The two halted a few metres from the car, and as Stamets stood, still taking in the strange new scene, the driver’s side door of the car opened, and a man in a black suit and tie stepped out. He was tall, but not abnormally so, and he held himself with the posture of a man who was entirely sure of himself and his control of the situation. A slight breeze ruffled his brown hair, and he smiled appreciatively, surveying Stamets with a pair of disarmingly blue eyes before turning to Ryan - or whoever he was - standing at Stamets’ side, still holding his arm. 

“I believe congratulations are in in order, Doctor,” the man said, “you’ve managed to do what no one else was able to do.”

“Thank you, captain, but it was pure luck that he came my way.”

“Yes, it was.” The doctor at Stamets’ side stiffened, and Stamets gathered that the relationship between the two was not on good terms. The captain returned his gaze to Stamets, his eyes lingering on the bloody stains on his suit and face. His stare fixed on the blood still dripping from Stamets’ fingertips, then flicked to the doctor.

“Explain.”

“A drunk man, captain. He began harassing Stamets and physically threatening him. Another man came in to pay and saw the drunk. He tried to call for help.”

The captain’s eyes bored into the doctor’s, as if trying to discern whether or not he was being told the truth. The silence stretched out between them, and neither backed down, holding the other’s gaze as if challenging the man to give up and look away. Eventually, the captain smiled suddenly, and turned to Stamets, who tried to shrink away. The smile was kind and welcoming, but it didn’t extend to the piercing blue eyes, which stayed as cold and icy as the doctor’s.

“You’ve led us on quite the chase, Mr Stamets!” the man began, striding over easily. The sudden change in demeanour threw Stamets off, and he struggled to catch up.  
“Through seven states! I must admit, I didn’t think you’d be that hard to find. You evidently have a talent for deception.” The words were meaningless enough, but the last one enforced a message Stamets would have to be an idiot to miss. _You have annoyed me,_ it said, _and that will not stand._

“I suppose we’ll see if you’re as good at chemistry as you are at evading us.”

With his parting words he spun around on his heel and strode back to the car, raising his arm and pointing a thumb over his shoulder as he went. Immediately, the surrounding agents - that seemed like the appropriate word - swarmed forwards, one producing a black cloth from an hidden pocket. Stamets tried to struggle and pull away, but the doctor kicked out the back of his knees and he sank to the ground, held there by the doctor’s unrelenting grasp on his shoulders pushing him down. He kicked out his legs, trying to keep them away, but the bag came down over his head, and everything went dark.


	2. Shades of White

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yall I am sorry this has taken so long frankly I completely forgot about it/avoided it for a while
> 
> this is super short and only 850 words but I'm uploading it (and probably adding stuff soon) because I need to put something up

Stamets woke up in an empty white room, feeling as if he had been roused from a deep sleep. _Preferably unhurt_ extended farther than he thought, then, if they’d taken the time to put him to sleep without injuring him. Unbidden, another word crossed his mind, and he shuddered, trying to ignore it.

 _Undamaged_.

 _It makes sense,_ his mind whispered. _They need you to work for them. Although… what about after you’re done? They won’t need you anymore._

A second voice chimed in, even more disturbing. _They’ll always need you_ , it said. _That’s why they took you. They’ll force you to work for them forever._

He shivered, shrinking into the bedding (bedding? what?) as if he could physically distance himself from his thoughts, and turned his attention to the room he was stuck in. It had cream walls and no windows, a large wooden desk and chair occupying the far corner. Next to the desk, bolted to the wall, was a tall white cupboard with metal handles, and he was lying on the only other piece of furniture in the room - a small white bed, furnished only with a thin sheet and bare pillow. The only source of light in the room was a naked globe affixed to the centre of the ceiling, bathing the room in a stark white.

Slowly, cautiously, he pulled back the sheets and swung his legs over the corner of the bed, but as he did so he noticed he was still dressed in the charcoal grey suit from the night before - actually, was it the night before? With no connection to the outside world in this cell, he had no way of knowing if it was day or night, and for all he knew the events at the gas station had only transpired an hour ago, or maybe it was a day ago, or two or three days (it was entirely possible, as he recalled his last moments at the station punctured with the stabbing pain of a syringe or IV being inserted into his wrist) - or maybe a week, he had no idea, they could have re-sedated him, theoretically without a mirror he had no idea how long it had been, he couldn’t tell if he couldn’t see himself-

_Rip._

Stamets opened his eyes - he hadn’t realised he’d shut them - and looked down at his hands. Unconsciously he’d reached for the sheets and held them, pulling and twisting and grabbing, and now he could see the tear he’d unwittingly caused in the thin fabric. Coming back to himself and calming down, he inspected the sheet, thankfully noting that it was only a small rip. Putting them aside, he rose slowly from the bed and walked across the room. The desk wasn’t proper wood, he noted, running the tips of his fingers over the flat surface. Just cheap plywood with wood patterning. The drawers were empty, except for the top one, which held a stack of notepads and some basic stationary - pens, pencils, a ruler, an eraser and a sharpener. Opening the doors of the cupboard, he expected to be greeted with bare white shelves, but instead he saw that it was full of clothes - the left half of the closet was devoted to shelves, as he’d guessed, but they were stacked high with what looked like sensible casual clothes and - scrubs? He was a mycologist, not a doctor, but he put the issue from his mind as he noted the right half of the closet - a plain silver rail, from which hung a number of stark white lab coats on hangers. He pulled one off the rail and examined it, feeling the scratchy texture of not-quite-pure cotton before his attention was drawn to an embroidered patch sewn above the left breast pocket - _Dr Paul Stamets, DSc_. 

Overcome with a wave of revulsion at what the coat symbolised, he thrust it back into the closet and slammed the doors, backing away from it until his head hit the wall behind him and when he reached back he felt only the smooth plasterboard underneath his fingers. Turning away from the closet, not wanting to be reminded why he’d been on the run for months and finally kidnapped, he found himself staring at the door to his cell. Like everything else in the room, it was white, but stark white, not the faint cream of the walls, and when he walked up to it he could see the hinges, and realised that it must open inwards and be inlaid into the doorframe on the other side, so there was no way he could break it down. He laid his hand on the door, and under his palm he could feel the cold metal leaching the warmth out of him. Quickly, he withdrew his hand, and smiled without humour, noting the irony - everything here, even the door, was meant to draw the life from him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> again I am so sorry this has taken so long I'll be better with the next chapter


End file.
